


One Size Fits All

by firthjpeg



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Body Worship, Clothing Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:21:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27568183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firthjpeg/pseuds/firthjpeg
Summary: A simple mix-up in laundry leaves Harry suffering.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 130





	One Size Fits All

**Author's Note:**

> SO I wrote the first half of this fic over a year and a half ago (jeez!!) and then got busy with university, and then got all of my time back bc of the pandemic bUt completely forgot how to write so apologies if it’s not all that great! there’s a lot of amazing smut writers in the fandom too and i felt intimidated, but the nature of the fic wasn’t a fade to black moment lmao
> 
> as usual, proof read so many times my eyes hurt and i just need it gone from my drafts, so pls let me know if any mistakes and i'll rectify x
> 
> Inspired by [THIS](https://66.media.tumblr.com/76aed63dfd10cdce2b1005d87cf93c59/tumblr_ps91clnljl1w0gw85o3_540.png) photo, im still suffering (I mean really look at the straining what did u expect me to do!!!)

Harry’s halfway through buttering his toast and is just about to put two more slices on when a slam of the door upstairs and an earthquake of footsteps rattle through the house.

“Toast, Eggsy?” He asks, taking a bite out of his own. JB jumps at the cabinet by Harry’s feet, nails scratching the doors until he’s given his own breakfast; some disgusting chicken and liver tin that Eggsy insists JB ‘ _goes well mad for._ ’

“Nah, can’t.” Eggsy sounds nearly out of breath, and when Harry turns to face him, he’s haphazardly pulling on his suit jacket ( _tsk_ , Harry must have words with him about treating the kevlar with care) and grabbing his bag. “Forgot I was going in early to help debrief Bors. Merlin’s gonna have my hide.”

“Ah, I see.” Harry hums, his plans for a quiet morning in cut to ribbons, but no matter. “Make sure you have breakfast at work, won’t you?”

“Always do.” Eggsy smiles bright, and runs a hand through his hair, trying to tame it from sleep. It’s vaguely resembling the birds nest of a ‘do Harry sported in his youth and there’s still pillow creases in his cheek. He’s still impeccably done up, the suit fitting him like a very luxurious and well-worn glove, only dripping with much more sex appeal than Harry can fathom for eight A.M on a bright Thursday morning. He’s a stark contrast to Harry’s boxers and lounge t-shirt, the role reversal not lost on Harry and a thought that he neatly folds up in a napkin and stores away in a file to digest later. _UNWIN comma EGGSY colon SEXUAL FANTASIES._

Eggsy steps into Harry’s space, pressing against him, both of them craving the morning body heat. Harry instantly gets his hand on Eggsy’s trim waist, moves up to his flanks, around to the backs of his shoulders, feeling the pure muscle stored there. Eggsy fists his hands in the top of Harry’s t-shirt, gazing up at him with a lazy smile. God, he’s gorgeous. Harry’s nearly animalistic with the way he pulls Eggsy into a kiss, feeling more awake by the second. Eggsy’s hands go soft in their grip on his shirt, weight fully pressed onto Harry, humming like he could do this all day (and probably would, if either of them had the time to spare). Eggsy pulls back after a moment, wiping a few crumbs from Harry’s face with his thumb and licking it after.

“See you at the mansion? Oh, d’you mind bringing JB?” Eggsy asks with a winning grin, as if he hasn’t just set Harry on a mission of just how he can coax this incorrigible man back to bed this very instance. Alas, he’s already pulling away, leaning down to give JB a little ear scratch before grabbing his bag off of the dining room table.

“Yes, of course, see you there,” Harry says mindlessly once he’s found his tongue, watching as Eggsy rushes out of the front door and leaves him with cold toast and a the rather sudden and overwhelming urge to take an even colder shower.

—

It’s one of the hottest days that London has experienced in a while, and as a result every man, woman and child has convened to Hyde park for a picnic. Harry is envious; Kingsman duties await, as they do for every other agent. Most of the Kingsman agents have forgone a complete three-piece for (still bespoke) trousers and button-downs. It’s surprising to see Roxy in beige jumpsuit and ballet flats, and even more so to find Merlin sat on the grounds eating his lunch rather than being holed up in the R&D basement. Harry himself is in smart-pressed chinos and a white oxford shirt, letting his neck and ankles breathe. The old Arthur wouldn’t have stood for it, but the new guy’s not as strict and even lets Eggsy wear smart trainers in some days, if he’s been particularly good on a mission.

He’s monitoring Lamorak’s progress on a surveillance case when Eggsy raps at the door, waits a few seconds for the _come in!_ , enters with a smile. Harry doesn’t tease him on finally learning the art of knocking, but he’s secretly very pleased.

“Hello darling.” Harry says, leaning back in his chair. He minimises the video feed on his computer; Lamorak isn’t in any kind of trouble from his café recon in Montparnasse, and Eggsy is very much worth the view in the meantime. He’s got a laptop in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Jacket and tie discarded somewhere in the mansion, his shirt cuffs are rolled up twice and the top button undone. He’s as exquisite as he was this morning, an equal temptation to Harry at any time of day.

“Mind if I sit and finish my report?” Eggsy asks, and Harry nods to the chair on the other side of his desk. “God, it’s lush in here, my office is like a fuckin’ sauna.”

“You should’ve worn something different darling,” Harry teases. Eggsy sits, pulling the chair closer and setting his laptop down. He reaches down and scratches at JB’s ears; the dog’s comatose in the plush dog bed that Harry had bought for him when he reluctantly accepted that JB wouldn’t stop scratching at his office door no matter how much he tried. Eggsy doesn’t comment on the fact that JB has Harry wrapped around his tiny little paws, but his smirk says it all.

“I was in a rush, didn’t have time t’ stop and think about it.” Eggsy nods to Harry’s desk. “How’s Lamorak?”

“Fine, not causing any trouble.”

Eggsy smiles, a tad smug. “Told you he’d be a dream to work with.” The new Lamorak, real name Tommy, was Eggsy’s first proposal after V-Day. He’s a kid from York who had stolen Eggsy’s watch during a recon in Lincoln and scaled a wall with little effort to get away; once Eggsy had tracked him down and prised the watch off of him, he realised the kid had but a quid to his name and whip-sharp skills; parkour wasn’t something to be overlooked, and neither was a sleight of hand. Harry knew that when he sprung Eggsy from Holborn, and no doubt Eggsy felt the same way about Tommy. He’d hauled the kid into Kingsman, gave him the Pretty Woman make-over and submitted him as Lamorak. He’d gotten everyone safely to the loo snorkels in the first test, shot his dog with the blank, stopped the assassination of the foreign office minister within the first week and made his mark on Kingsman in ways that sometimes make Eggsy a little bit jealous.

Harry looks up from his feed of Lamorak occasionally, watching Eggsy go from fidgeting and distracted to focused in a matter of minutes, fingers flying on his laptop keys as he writes out his report from his Taiwan mission with Lancelot. He’s always fascinating when he’s this intent and focused, be it with a gun in his hand or a pen and paper. Harry loves the way Eggsy submits to the role of Gawain: mercilessly taking down marks with hands that snap necks and thighs built to crush; helping R&D test new weapons and running laps around Merlin to test out the cars; pestering Percival for help on languages to nail down his aliases; putting extra time in the gym and helping train recruits. He’s one of the most marvellously loyal agents that Harry has seen, and nobody can hold a flame to him.

The extra work has paid off in other ways, too. Harry’s never particularly cared for a specific physique; his only real preference is Eggsy, immediately, any way he can have him. But the time pulling weights in the gym and going for evening runs has done wonders to Eggsy’s body; stocky thighs and calves that fill his trousers perfectly, biceps that go from soft as butter to hard as granite in a simple twitch. Right now, Eggsy looks like a five-course meal to be devoured, a dish for each limb and maybe even a dessert if he’s lucky. A la mode.

“Have you been putting more time in the gym?” Harry asks after a few moments because, huh. Maybe it’s the summer heat or the sweat clinging his shirt but Eggsy’s arms seem particularly tight today. Even with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, there’s a visible strain in the seam of the shoulder fabric every time he moves his arms to grab his glass of water. It’s pulled taut across his chest, nearing see-through. Jesus, if Harry could see over the top of Eggsy’s laptop he’d bet a million quid on seeing his nipples through the fabric, baring all.

“Hm? No, not really, just trying to maintain it all now.” Eggys seems unfazed. “Why?”

 _You look like the best/worst kind of porn and I want to rip the buttons that are barely holding you together and take you over this desk until you’re sweating again._ “Your shirt doesn’t seem like it’s fitting right.”

“Oh, yeah, accidentally grabbed one of yours this morning in the rush. Bit tight but it’ll do. Promise I’ll wash it tonight so you can have it back.” Eggsy flashes a grin and sticks his nose back in his laptop, and Harry is very, _very_ glad Eggsy doesn’t see the way his face goes strategically blank.

He’s wearing Harry’s shirt. _Jesus Christ._ Something as mundane as a mix-up in laundry shouldn’t fry Harry’s brain but it’s setting him off like the fireworks in Valentine’s bunker. He’s never really stopped to think about the difference in their physiques but it’s very fucking obvious now. The shirt barely fits him. Harry isn’t a small man by any means, but he feels it, analysing the way Eggsy looks in his clothes. Eggsy is _stocky;_ he’s filling out Harry’s shirt like an overfilled water balloon that’s ready to burst; like one flex of a bicep might just rip a shirtsleeve clean off.

As for the sleeves, Harry’s pretty sure they’re rolled up for a reason. Where Eggsy is stocky, Harry is long: as if he’d been stretched like taffy coming out of his mother’s womb. Harry would bet any money that the sleeves are far too long, and the idea of Eggsy’s fingers barely peeking out above the cuff is doing absolute wonders to the blood flow that’s already running south.

_“…Galahad? Are you receiving?”_

“Yes, yes go ahead Lamorak.” Tidbits to file away; more important matters at hand. But if Harry does glance up at Eggsy every so often he can’t be to blame, surely.

—

This is getting _ridiculous_ now.

Eggsy left some time ago, something about going to check his report over with Roxy before he hands it off to Arthur. Harry finds it easier to focus then, mind sated with nobody but Lamorak to focus on. Harry rounds up the recon, ensures Lamorak’s bundled on a train back to the manor and is just about to start writing his progress report to send to Arthur when he hears laughter outside. He heads to the window, leaning out to have a look below, cat killed with curiosity.

Percival, Bors and Lancelot are kicking a football about the grounds, Merlin sat watching from the side-lines with a cigarette in hand. He seems to have even let some of the R&D lackeys out of their cave; they squint at the glaring sun, seeming a bit lost like they’ve just woken up from hibernation. The nurses have even dragged Bedivere out of medical bay and are carting him around in a wheelchair that he without a doubt hates; Harry will be sure to gib him about it when he’s next visiting. It’s a rather lovely sight, one that Harry wants to take a moment to remember. This would have never happened a year ago; Kingsman protocol has always been unforgiving and punishing. Christmases didn’t exist, neither did holidays unless you had a few hours to look in the souvenir shops between flights to safe houses. However, as the new Arthur had rightfully pointed out: Kingsman’s priority has always been the safety of this country, including those who live in it. Agent’s aren’t mutually exclusive to this. Thus, footy on the mansion, casual clothes, Christmases finally spent with families where they can afford it. England will still be there in the morning.

The lovely moment is shredded to pieces like JB getting hold of one of Daisy’s stuffed dolls. Eggsy runs out into the grounds from seemingly nowhere, leaping over Merlin and running straight towards Roxy who’s in possession of the ball. Merlin swears at him in Scottish, but he’s already gone, chasing Roxy down. Roxy, never one to back down from a challenge, legs it too. She teases Eggsy by passing it back and forth with Bors and not giving him a chance. What Eggsy has in strength Roxy more than makes up for in speed, legs like a gazelle and sharp instincts for when Eggsy might try and slide the ball out from under her feet. He’s got no chance.

“Oi, Rox, don’t be a wanker!” Harry hears Eggsy shout, but he’s far too distracted by the way Eggys’s arms strain in the fabric as he runs, muscles tensing and pulling the shirt out from where it was neatly tucked into his suit trousers and belt. The strain in his muscles as he sprints after her, giving it all he’s got, nearly gives Harry an aneurysm and an erection, in that order.

“Come and get it then!” She yells back, caught around a laugh. She kicks the ball back to Bars, who boots it far enough in front of them all that Roxy has the upper hand. But her choice of ballet flats fails her, as Eggsy surges forwards, grabs her by her waist and hauls her over his shoulder in an excellent display of stealth and strength. Eggsy teases Roxy, carrying her as he dribbles the ball back towards the mansion. Roxy squirms to get out of his grip and he eventually lets her down, not without steering the ball clear from her. Harry’s holding onto the window frame for dear life; if he lets go, he’ll topple out and end up in hospital alongside Bedivere.

“Bit of five-aside then?” Eggys asks the lackeys, who perk up at the offer. “Come on Merls!”

“Oh no lad, I’m not getting involved.” Merlin seems scandalised at the very thought. “Last time I played football I booted Galahad in the face and cracked his tooth.”

“If I recall correctly, that wasn’t because of the football.” Harry calls downstairs, everyone whipping their heads up to see him. Eggsy grins like a cat hearing a tuna can opening and Harry very pointedly doesn’t look at the hands on his hips, the sweat seeping through his shirt by his armpits, the open collar revealing a tempting bit of collarbone.

“Aye, it was because you kneed me in the ballsack. Friendly tackle my arse, my goolies never recovered.”

“Your _goolies_ are fine, it’s your pride that never stayed the same.” Harry feels rather smug when Merlin scoffs and heads back inside, cigarette abandoned underfoot. All the lackeys seem a bit lost without their leader, but Eggsy’s never one to let a person feel left out and kicks the ball towards them.

“Right, well, how ‘bout just a kickabout between us lot then?” They all look between each other, accept, and go about dividing teams up so that there’s an equal number of agents to techies in each team and the jumper goalposts are firmly in place. Harry watches from the safety of his window for a while, feeling a bit like a goblin in an ivory tower with a penchant for fit young men in too-tight shirts with East London accents. Eggsy gets sweatier as the game goes on, undoing another button on the shirt, revealing more of his jugular and the top of his chest. It suddenly becomes all too real when Eggsy looks up at him and winks as Bors gives him a rough hug for scoring a goal. He wraps his arms around Bors, muscles straining and sweat starting to seep through the front of the shirt, making him look wet and panting and Harry wishes he was wet and panting with him in private, not staring at him with a stiffy he can’t put to any use.

Harry retreats into his office, shutting the windows to block out the laughter and shouting from outside, the loudest coming from Eggsy. He returns to his desk, report blinking at him in Times New Roman, and Harry stares up at the ceiling and briefly wonders if the cleaning ladies will mind horribly if Harry ambushes Eggsy into one of their cleaning cupboards after the match.

—

Harry’s been sat comfortably in the living room since he’d gotten home, finishing off the crossword in the Telegraph and trying desperately to not let his mind drag itself into the gutter. It’s particularly hard when the crossword is a bloody sports edition for the Women’s Rugby World Cup. 6 across, another world for interception. TACKLE. Harry feels like he’s in the adaptation of Stephen King’s _It_ , except instead of Pennywise luring him to his death it’s the image of Eggsy dropping to his knees to defend the goal on the manor grounds, taking down Roxy as he goes, hair falling in his face and sweat shining off of his neck. And God. Harry would jump headfirst into the gutter and not look back if he ever had the chance.

“Harry babes? You home? Stop- Oi, stop humping me JB- did you walk him past Lola’s today? You know he gets proper randy if he don’t get to see her.”

As it is, Eggsy’s cradling JB in his arms in a too-tight shirt like he should be performing on a pole in a gay bar down Compton Street, and that’s not a bad image either.

“Lola wasn’t around unfortunately. Her owners have gone to Majorca for a week so she’s with someone else for the time being.” Harry tries to concentrate on the crossword. Reward for a penalty. 4 down. SQUIB. A sepia image of Eggsy jumping to defend the free kick, back arching as he boots it back down the opposition’s way. Jesus Christ, Harry might be getting a bit too old for all of this. He abandons the newspaper in favour of watching Eggsy fuss over JB and hopes he doesn’t look as lovesick as he feels.

“God, he’s gonna be insufferable, better put some cling film on the furniture until they’re back.” Eggsy flops down onto the sofa next to Harry, still cradling JB, and tilts his head out for a kiss. Harry obliges, wrapping an arm around Eggsy as he noses his way from his cheek down to his neck, placing messy kisses where he can get to them. Eggsy’s skin tastes like sweat. JB squirms between them until he can jump down with a wheezing bark, and Harry’s lips reach the top of Eggsy’s shirt collar.

And _oh_ , that reminds him, Eggsy’s still wearing that fucking shirt. He can feel the tightness of the fabric through the hand he’s got resting on Eggsy’s bicep, and it nearly burns him. The shirt has faint grass stains on it from his tirade on the football pitch earlier, faded by Eggsy’s obvious attempts to scrub them out. He pushes closer, running his hand up to the shoulder seam, nose skating up Eggsy’s neck to his ear, biting softly. Eggsy lets out a harsh breath, caught between a laugh and a moan. Harry has to stifle a whine when he feels how stretched out the shirt seam is, close to ripping.

“Harry, leave off, ‘m all sweaty.” Eggsy laughs, squirming out of his grip. Harry doesn’t pout, but it’s a near thing. “Lemme go shower before you try and feel me up, yeah?”

“Don’t,” Harry says rather quickly. Eggsy blinks at him. “There’s no point in getting clean.” He tries to go for cheeky, but with the way Eggsy’s confusion relaxes to a salacious grin he knows it pervy as all hell.

“Alright, I won’t, but you’re still gonna have to wait a bit. I’m starving.”

 _Me too._ The part of Harry’s brain that had been relegated to the gutter wedges its way to the forefront like an angry protester, holding a sign covered that reads EGGSY UNWIN OWNS MY ARSE decked out in glitter and sequins and feathers flying about the place. Harry looks down at JB and vaguely thinks _bloody hell, if I couldn’t get my hands on Eggsy I’d be humping the couches, too._

Harry’s patience has worn too thin to cook, so he resorts to throwing two Waitrose pizzas in the oven and cracking open the red wine. He’s downed a glass and just finished cutting the pizzas into equal slices by the time Eggsy reappears from the bathroom. He’s not gotten changed but looking visibly fresher and smells it too: the overpowering scent of deodorant fizzes Harry’s nose. As if this situation couldn’t get more infuriating, Eggsy’s rolled the sleeves of his shirt down, confirming Harry’s earlier suspicion that Eggsy’s fingers just peek out. Good god. Harry reaches for the wine again.

“Long day?” Eggsy teases, grabbing for his own glass. He reaches for a slice, picking off some ham and dropping it into JB’s bowl. JB scarfs it like he wasn’t fed half an hour ago, the greedy sod.

“You have no idea.” Eggsy practically inhales the pizza in front of him, eyes on Harry the whole time. Harry manages half of his own, his hunger sated but appetite ravaging him with every passing moment. They chat noncommittally over dinner, and Eggsy keeps sneaking JB slices of ham when he thinks Harry isn’t looking. But Harry’s always looking, watching the way he swirls his wine with his wrist and opens up the top two buttons of his shirt. _Harry’s_ shirt. He’s desperate to get his hands on him, feel the obvious straining under his fingers. Harry can’t help but wonder: if he were to trail his fingers down Eggsy’s naval, run his hands over the large expanse of his thighs, do everything in his power to drive him crazy, would Eggsy quite literally fly apart at the seams?

“Shall I chuck this lot in the dishwasher, then?” Eggsy asks finally, stretching out of his chair and starting to gather the plates. JB jumps up onto Eggsy’s now-empty seat, hopeful for scraps, but Eggsy’s quick to move Harry’s leftover pizza away before he can get it.

“Yes, thankyou.” Harry says absently. He rises, finishing his wine; he’s starting to feel drowsy, maybe half a glass too much. “I’m going to freshen up.”

He goes to press a kiss to the top of Eggsy’s head but finds himself looping an arm around his waist; drawn to him like a siren, despite how much he might try to resist. But when Eggsy reacts so wonderfully, huffing out a laugh and leaning back into him for a moment, how could Harry ever deny himself this? His fingers dip to where the shirt is tucked into his suit trousers, tracing, and Eggsy’s head drops forward so much that Harry gives into the temptation to press kisses to the back of his exposed neck. Eggsy shivers and wriggles away.

“Alright sod off, I’ll be up in a minute.”

Harry takes the stairs two at a time and locks himself in the en-suite bathroom. He turns on the taps, the sound of gushing water filling the room as he paces, willing himself to calm down. He runs his wrists under the cold water, and it helps. He uses the same water to wash his face and armpits, and by the time Harry’s finished freshening up he feels like he’s just about got a lid on the situation.

He leaves the bathroom to find Eggsy sat on the end of the bed, having just taken off his shoes and socks. Eggsy looks up, sees Harry stood in the doorway and stands, seeming unsure about his this will play out. He rests his hands behind his back, as if he’s presenting himself for inspection, giving himself over. The lid Harry had put on the situation in the bathroom flies off in the space between them in seconds.

“Jesus Christ,” he can’t help but mutter, advancing towards Eggsy like a predator on a wounded animal, hungry for the feast. Eggsy doesn’t say anything but quirks his lips like he wants to. Harry crowds in close, gets his hands on the others’ waist, and despite how much he touches the younger man on a daily basis it sets his nerve endings alight, makes him eager and turned on and desperate all at once.

Eggsy must see it in his eyes, because he ducks his head and utters “fuck Harry,” and _still_ doesn’t touch him, keeps his hands firmly behind his back. _So, he’s in one of these moods,_ Harry thinks, fingers gripping tight over Eggsy’s shirt. On nights like this when Harry’s feeling particularly riled, Eggsy will just stand and wait, watching Harry as he slowly unravels from his prim and proper exterior. Harry knows this game well, and while Eggsy usually plays to win, Harry’s just about had enough of the teasing for one day.

“You’ve been a menace all day,” Harry mutters, and his voice drops purposefully low to a tone that makes Eggsy shudder. One hand keeps a tight grip over Eggsy’s hip, keeping him close now that Harry’s _finally_ got him where he wants him, and the other hand trails along the waistband of Eggsy’s trousers, where the shirt is tucked in impossibly tight. Harry wonders if he has red angry lines running across his hips, hopes he does so he can get his teeth on them and make Eggsy arch in pain and pleasure.

“What should I do with you?” He continues, hand moving down, thumbing at his belt buckle and then further down, pushing apart the zipper flap and getting as close to Eggsy’s cock as he can through the fabric, rubbing the metal teeth of the zip and feeling what that friction does to Eggsy’s cock as it starts to fill out. When Harry looks up, Eggsy’s pupils have dilated to the size of moons, and his lips are parted around a breath; he’s just as desperate to touch Harry.

Harry takes his win, pushes forward for an intoxicating kiss that makes Eggsy immediately move his hands. He grabs fistfuls of the back of Harrys shirt, pulling it out of his trousers and getting his hands on the hot skin underneath, desperate to touch. Eggsy whimpers as Harry bites at his bottom lip, hands still anchored on his hips but dragging him closer, their bodies pressed impossibly close. Harry’s cock starts to fill out, feels Eggsy’s doing the same, and it riles him on, makes him feral.

He impatiently pushes Eggsy down onto the bed, following quickly and not letting up kissing him for a minute. His tongue dips along Eggsy’s lower lip, followed by his teeth, and Eggsy whines in the back of his throat like a wounded animal, a hand moving to fist in Harry’s hair and tugging hard. Harry moves his mouth to muffle his groan into Eggsy’s neck, scraping his teeth again and grinding down against Eggsy. His brain can’t think to do anymore, chasing the feedback loop of the pain in his scalp and the hot arousal pooling in his stomach.

“Off, c’mon,” Eggsy pants when they pull away, tugging desperately at the buttons on Harry’s shirt. Harry complies with a laugh, kneeling up to remove it completely and throw it off the bed. When he looks down Eggsy’s belt has been undone and his hands are starting work on the buttons of his shirt, lips swollen, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Without even thinking, Harry’s hands pin Eggsy’s wrists to either side of his head.

“Don’t.” Harry warns, voice rough and low, and he can’t but look at the extra undone button, revealing a sweaty triangle of tempting skin. Eggsy writhes, flexing his wrists under Harry’s hands, testing how serious he is. But Harry’s not letting up anytime soon. Eggsy makes a small whine in the back of his throat as Harry leans down to press a wet kiss to the newly revealed skin, scraping his teeth. “Leave it on,” he murmurs against Eggsy’s chest, releasing his hands so he can yank down Eggsy’s trousers in one fluid motion.

“Fuck,” Eggsy laughs, eyes alight. He kneels up to crowd Harry’s space. “S’this what’s got you riled up?” His hands undo the older man’s belt and zip and dip in, cupping him through his boxers. “Seeing me kitted out in your shirt?” Eggsy squeezes Harry’s cock and he can’t help the loud moan of surprise, the arousal of being found out curling deliciously in his stomach. “Been watching you watch me all day an’ wondered what you was thinking.” Eggsy’s hand slips between the boxer barrier, taking Harry in his hand and starting to stroke.

“You don’t want to know,” Harry manages through a gasp, hips jerking into Eggsy’s calloused touch.

Eggsy leans forward and nuzzles under Harry’s jaw, scraping his teeth against the rough skin. “I think I do.”

Harry becomes frantic after that, struggling to take his hands off of Eggsy long enough to rid himself of the rest of his clothes. Once he’s stripped bare and Eggsy’s left in just Harry’s shirt, fingers peeking out from underneath the sleeves, Harry can’t help but push Eggsy down onto the mattress, one hand on his chest. He presses his face into Eggsy’s neck and slides their cocks together, breathing in the heady scent and biting at the soft skin left bare by the unbuttoned collar. Eggsy’s hips kick, a small wine stuttering from the back of his throat like he can’t help it. The sound drives Harry delirious with pleasure, knowing he’s making Eggsy feel equally as strung out.

Even through the shirt Eggsy’s skin feels warm with sweat. Harry pushes back onto his knees, taking in Eggsy’s supine form - the way his shirt ends trail along Eggsy’s thighs and part in the middle, revealing Eggsy’s straining cock - before reaching for the lube on the bedside table. He runs one hand along the large expanse of Eggsy’s left thigh to push it towards his chest. His other hand, now lubed up and teasing around the rim of Eggsy’s hole, makes the younger man shiver and close his eyes, hips stuttering in anticipation.

“Yeah, fuck,” Eggsy breathes as Harry sinks two fingers in with ease, and watches with hunger as Eggsy’s hips buck into the touch, clenching hot around his fingers. Eggsy takes in a deep breath and Harry watches greedily as the shirt parts slightly between the buttons, revealing slithers of white skin, before disappearing when Eggsy exhales. “C’mon, need more,” and Harry can’t think to fight when Eggsy’s thrusting down onto his fingers like he’s wishing they were twice the size. He pins Eggsy’s restless hips with his free hand and roughly fucks into him, fingers brushing his prostate and making Eggsy keen. It makes Harry’s cock twitch in anticipation; neither of them will last long with how wound up they are.

“I wish I could show you what you look like.” Harry murmurs, watching Eggsy’s neck flush pink. “In that _shirt_. You’re the most sinful temptation.”

“Fuck,” Eggsy sighs, eyes fluttering sit as he fucks back against Harry’s fingers. “You can’t say shit like that Harry- c’mon, get inside me...”

“ _You_ -“ Harry stops short when Eggsy reaches down and grabs his wrist, pulling his fingers out. Without saying a word, Eggsy turns so that he’s on all fours, arms folded on the pillow, forehead resting on his forearms and ass in the air, legs tucked underneath his body.

“ _Please_.” Eggsy turns to look at Harry with wide, desperate eyes, and Harry can’t do anything but grab Eggsy by his hips, line up and press in.

 _God_. No matter how many times they do this, Harry will always be surprised at how good it feels to be inside Eggsy; to feel the way his body slowly opens around the blunt head of his cock like a flower blooming under the first touch of spring. His fingers clutch to Eggsy’s hips through the shirt, and after a moment of heavy breathing, Eggsy moans into his arm and nods roughly, clenching around Harry.

It’s all the indication he needs to pull back and thrust, _hard_ , pulling no punches. He thrusts again, and again, setting up a punishing pace that sends the whole bed shuddering into the wall. Harry pulls Eggsy’s hips back to meet his, not letting up for a minute as he chases the pleasure skittering down his spine and pooling low in his stomach.

“Fuckin hell, _Harry_ ,” Eggsy cries, pushing his head up to take a deep breath of air. His arms give out underneath him as he scrambles to grab onto the headboard, pulling himself taut as Harry fucks into him like a man possessed. Harry’s eyes flit from the sweat soaking his shirt to the tension in his arms, pulling the sleeves so incredibly tight; so incredibly close to _ripping_. The thought makes Harry moan and he fucks harder, using his leverage to push Eggsy’s chest further into the mattress as he tightens his grip on the younger man’s hips. The pleasure builds in his gut, making his pace falter, jaw falling slack as he utters a soft “ _Eggsy_.”

“ _Harry_. Fuck, _fuck_ , m’gonna come, c’mon, please-” Eggsy pleads, half garbled around the pillow pressing into his face, toes curling underneath him as he pushes up into Harry’s brutal pace. Harry feels the way Eggsy tightens around him, the strain in his voice, knows he’s holding on for as long as he can. Harry shifts his hips on the next thrust and hits Eggsy’s prostate, making him release a soft “ _Ah_!” as his whole body writhes, caught between wanting to shy away from the white hot pleasure and desperately wanting to chase it.

It takes one, two, three more deep thrusts before Eggsy comes, head pressed into his arm, crying out in ecstasy as his orgasm washes over him. As Eggsy’s entire body shakes, his arms tense and the seam in right shirtsleeve _rips_ , and Harry manages two more thrusts before he’s coming inside Eggsy, barely managing to keep his eyes on the seam and the bare skin underneath as his body shudders through his orgasm.

Harry covers Eggsy’s body with his own once he’s stopped finished, burying his face in Eggsy’s neck and kissing the sweat there. “God,” he breathes, hips still twitching. Eggsy whines and turns his head to press a kiss to whatever part of Harry he can reach: his jaw.

“Ah, pull out, m’gettin sensitive,” Eggsy slurs, trying to turn around in Harry’s grip. Harry reluctantly pulls out and lays next to Eggsy, watching him slowly unbutton the shirt. It’s completely ruined, ripped at the arm and stained with Eggsy’s come grass stains and sweat, but the sight of it on him still makes Harry’s stomach twist in pleasure. Eggsy must see it on his face, because he grins slyly and tosses the shirt off of the bed. “Freak.” He crawls into Harry’s arms, gets a hand in Harry’s hair as he entangles their legs and tucks his head under Harry’s chin. “If I’d known you had a thing for me in your kit I’d’ve done it sooner.”

“It was news to me too, darling.” Harry muses, running a hand down Eggsy’s spine and resting it on his hip. They’ll need to clean up soon; the sweat’s sitting uncomfortably on Harry’s skin and he feels in desperate need of a shower, knows Eggsy’s will want the same. But Eggsy being sated and pliant in his arms makes Harry’s stomach flutter; he wants to hold him close, maybe keep him there forever. Cleaning up can wait. “Although I’d prefer not at work, if you could.”

 _I fear I wouldn’t ever get anything done and would just wander around trying to have you at given opportunity_ goes unsaid. Eggsy smiles against his skin and presses a soft kiss to his chest, knowing.

“I can’t make any promises.” Eggsy replies, eyes bright as he pulls back to look at Harry. “But we should probably buy you another shirt. Maybe two.”

Harry looks at him reproachfully. “You’re paying.”

—

Harry’s descending the stairs the next morning with a near-spring in his step, buttoning his suit jacket and avoiding tripping over JB, who’s most conveniently spread out at the bottom of the stairs. He’s not due in until the late afternoon for a mission debriefing with a freshly returned Lamorak, but Merlin’s asked him in early to test out some new equipment in the labs. And Harry, not unlike Eggsy, relishes the idea of playing guinea pig for the morning.

He walks through to the kitchen, on the quest for hot buttered toast and a cup of earl grey but stops dead in his tracks as he sees Eggsy hunched over the stove.

“Toast, babe?” Eggsy asks, back still turned. When Harry doesn’t answer Eggsy turns to look at him expectantly, a smile playing around his lips. “Or eggs? Bacon?”

“ _Eggsy_.” Harry strides towards him with purpose, getting his hands on Eggsy’s waist like he’ll burn up if he’s deprived any longer.

“That wasn’t an option.” Eggsy laughs like he doesn’t know what’s sent Harry for a tizzy, as if this wasn’t intentional, the incorrigible boy.

The role reversal from the previous morning isn’t lost on Harry. Whilst Harry is in his prim and proper Kingsman three piece, Eggsy stands bare foot in _Harry’s lounge t-shirt_ from yesterday morning. The length falls to Eggsy’s mid-thigh, the black strip barely peeking out to indicate that Eggsy is in fact wearing boxers. But it’s the tightness in the arms that makes Harry’s brain short-circuit, displaying the sinewiness of Eggsy’s toned biceps in a way that his white full-sleeved shirt didn’t yesterday. The perverted goblin stumbles half-drunk to the front of Harry’s mind again, holding the glittery sign and dancing with glee. _Eggsy Unwin own’s my arse_ , indeed.

“I don’t care, that’s what I want.” Harry finally replies, reaching behind Eggsy to turn off the hob and back Eggsy into the corner countertop, pulling him into a possessive kiss that makes Eggsy whimper and clutch at Harry’s elbows.

Merlin will have to find another guinea pig this morning; Harry finds himself rather occupied with a mix-up in laundry, and it might take him all morning to fix.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm [firthjpeg](http://firthjpeg.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you wanna say hi!


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